


Tied in Knots

by cheeseburgersmakemeveryhappy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, BDSM, Cas' first time at a dungeon, Dean's first time at a dungeon, Dom Castiel, Dungeon, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Smut, First Meetings, Flogging, Gentle Dom Castiel, Hand Jobs, Light Dom/sub, M/M, POV Castiel, Paddling, Piercings, Public Scene, Rope Bondage, Semi-Public Sex, Smut, Sub Dean Winchester, mentioned bloodplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-12
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-05-19 21:03:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5980843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheeseburgersmakemeveryhappy/pseuds/cheeseburgersmakemeveryhappy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I discovered the Dungeon Party and Tasting event purely by chance. Apparently when you Google “BDSM dungeon” and your zip code, you actually get a map and addresses. Two clicks later a very interesting calendar of events filled the screen and my imagination, so I added the party to my own calendar. Since then, I’ve spent the past week fighting back a few second thoughts that only seem to plague me when I’m not daydreaming about what I might see and experience in an open environment where newbies are encouraged to touch and be touched.   </p><p>What I really want to know is how fictional that fanfic is." </p><p>Where Cas goes to an actual BDSM dungeon to see where his kink lies and meets a gorgeous man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“What does one wear to a dungeon?”

“I don’t know, Castiel. Do you have a leather collar with metal studs? I believe that would be quite appropriate.”

_Seriously?_ I can’t help but roll my eyes at the phone. “Balthazar, I have no leather collars in my closet. I also have no floggers, riding crops or nipple clamps, so there’s no need to ask me about those either.”

“I am _blushing_ , darling. Please do not say the words ‘nipple clamps’ again. I won’t be able to control myself. Now remind me why you are traveling 35 minutes across town in the snow to an actual BDSM dungeon, where you will know absolutely no one?”

_That is a very good question._ “Research?” I answer, and I can feel my cheeks heating in embarrassment. For a second I am immensely thankful that Balthazar is on the phone and not standing here next to me and asking that. Quite honestly, the real reason I’m braving the roads and weather, and it’s not snowing _that_ hard, is because I’ve been doing a lot of reading lately. I found a site online that contains thousands of erotic stories – heterosexual, homosexual, asexual, pansexual – so many sexuals, some I’ve never even heard of before. Okay, here’s the truth – it’s fanfiction. It’s lovely, smutty, gratuitous fanfiction probably written by 19-year-old college girls. But they are delightfully imaginative, those co-eds, and I just stumbled into this archive wherein these lonely, horny authors post stories about my two favorite TV characters. And since then, I’m almost ashamed to admit, I’ve spent many long evenings awake until 1:00 or even 2:00 AM, even when I had to wake up at 5:30 to go to work the next morning, hanging on every porn-filled word, desperately trying not to jack off while I read. Because that would be too depraved; I have to draw the line somewhere.

Then about a month ago I clicked on a keyword and suddenly found myself up to my literary eyeballs with stories about chains, bondage, ropes and Dom/sub relationships. In most stories Gael is the Dom but in others he’s the sub. Regardless, I imagine myself in each and every one. I want to know if I’ll feel calm and happy kneeling naked on a small pillow at Gael’s feet, offering my mouth as a warm place for the detective to rest his cock after a hard day capturing serial killers. Or maybe I’d rather be the one to bind Jordan’s hands with soft rope, tilt the blond medical examiner face-first into the fluffy down comforter on my bed, and whisper praises into his ear as I turn up the speed on a vibrator I’ve nestled firmly against his prostate.

“I wonder if I am a Dominant or a submissive,” I try to explain, swallowing around the words. I don’t think I’ve said them out loud to any of my friends yet. “I feel that I lean in both directions. Perhaps gaining a better understanding of these concepts where I can see them played out or even experience them myself will help.”

What I can’t admit to Balthazar, at least not yet, is that these stories, these possibilities, make my pulse quicken, get me achingly hard within just a few paragraphs, and I just want more. My sex life isn’t stale; I consider myself to be fairly adventurous for a 30-something middle manager. I go to clubs once in a while. I’m on Tindr. But what I really want to know is how _fictional_ that fanfic is. For example, are there thousands of people coming “untouched?” That has never happened to me, but after reading a few hundred fics, it appears to be rather…achievable. I want to feel that. Maybe I just need the right partner, but maybe that partner should a very knowledgeable Dom.

I discovered the Dungeon Party and Tasting event purely by chance. Apparently when you Google “BDSM dungeon” and your zip code, you actually get a map and addresses. Two clicks later a very interesting calendar of events filled the screen and my imagination, so I added the party to my own calendar. Since then, I’ve spent the past week fighting back a few second thoughts that only seem to plague me when I’m not daydreaming about what I might see and experience in an open environment where newbies are encouraged to touch and be touched.

“Cassie, I cannot imagine you whipping some poor creature into submission,” Balthazar replies. “However I would personally like to be present when a sexy Adonis ties you naked to a Saint Andrew’s cross and takes a paddle to your lovely, white ass.”

“ _You_ are a lovely, white ass, Balthazar,” I laugh. “And I’ll keep that in mind. Now please focus, and I will repeat the question. What does one wear to a dungeon?”

I walk into my closet again, looking for something that will help me fit in yet be myself. “Hmmm,” I hear from the phone. “Do you actually own a pair of dark rinse jeans, love?”

I’m still amazed by how little my best friend actually knows about me. “Yes, I do.”

“How about that dark blue button-down number and a vest?”

I realize that I’m nodding so I call out, “That’s a very good suggestion. Hold on.” The shirt is pressed, so I climb into it and then turn to locate my charcoal gray vest. “This is one of my favorite first date outfits. I think it’s a good combination of casual and classic. It will do quite nicely. Thank you.”

“Call me or text when you’re leaving the place, otherwise I may worry about your safety.”

I can’t help but smile at that. “Thank you, Balthazar,” I reply. “I’m sure that I will be quite safe. In fact, I have a safe word.”

Balthazar barks out a laugh. “If you say ‘Heaven’ I will punch you the next time I see you. Unless you discover that you actually enjoy that sort of thing. In which case, I will…paint your fingernails black. Or perhaps pierce your nose with a ring.”

“Good night.” I honestly can’t think of anything else to say.

“Have fun. Make good choices.”


	2. Chapter 2

As it turns out, dungeons are actually in the basements of dance studios. And there’s an orientation talk during which all new participants review the rules and sign off on a legal-looking document indicating that we understand that “no” means “no,” that we will use “red” as a default safe word, and that tarps are provided for our convenience. Additionally, I now understand what the term “aerosoled bodily fluids” means.

Our leader is a tall, thin and very dapper man in his late twenties. He’s dressed in a grey three-piece suit and a fedora, and introduces himself as Michael. He tells us that he is one of three Dungeon Masters and a self-described Dom. I can easily imagine wanting to please him. Michael has a beautiful smile. He makes sure to point out that we are welcome to relax in the seating areas in the dungeon proper, but they are intended for aftercare, so if people look as though they need a place to sit and recuperate after a scene, it is expected that we move to another location like the social area we are currently sitting in.

I try a deep, cleansing breath. I’m nervous, but it may be more excitement than anxiety. As I look around at the seven other people sitting in sofas and stuffed chairs in the social area, we all seem to be apprehensively signing our names on the dotted line. I can’t help but think about every other waiver I’ve ever been presented. Hopefully no one’s ever died on this ride. I head back to the register to pay for my club membership and I’m handed a small laminated card and a punch card. Apparently my tenth party is free.

I’m just taking in my surroundings because it’s early and I imagine things don’t really get into full swing until later, but I’m actually surprised by how many people are here at 6:30. Most men are in jeans and t-shirts; some also sport a similar leather vest indicating that they belong to an organization that celebrates the BDSM lifestyle. There are a few who don’t fit the pattern – Michael, of course; a rather petite young man in leather ass-less chaps; and a few older folks in Polo shirts and khakis. The ladies are more colorful and original. There’s a lovely brunette in a skirt and brocade corset that sets off her ample breasts while making her waist look tiny. Younger girls sport very short schoolgirl plaid or black skirts. Some more curvy females wear dresses or ‘50s period attire. There are a few dog collars walking around. One even has metal studs.

“Do you have any questions?” Michael asks.

No one answers, but I’m curious. “I do.” Michael smiles encouragingly. “What is the etiquette for a new person like myself?”

Michael tilts his head slightly. “The Dungeon Masters are certainly here to answer any questions. It’s fine to watch, but don’t interrupt a scene or touch anyone’s toys without asking first.” I nod in understanding and can’t imagine who would just walk up and touch someone else’s paddles or, God forbid, dildo. “My sub Emma is right over there,” he adds, pointing to a slight blonde in a black and tan lace party dress. “I’ll let her know your name…”

“Castiel,” I reply, figuring last names are unnecessary even though it’s now immortalized on my membership card.

Michael smiles as he tries my name on his tongue. “Castiel. She will be happy to take you around and explain things for you if you like.”

“Thank you,” I say earnestly. I can’t help but keep eye contact with him for as long as might be socially acceptable. Michael leaves to talk to Emma and nods towards me, so I guess that’s my cue to introduce myself, but he walks away by the time I reach her.

“Michael tells me that I am to take you around,” she smiles and the slight gap between her front teeth is so endearing. “I’m not very good at these things, but Michael likes to push me to do stuff that I usually feel uncomfortable about.” She’s adorable, no more than 24 if she’s a day, and I can’t help but feel slightly protective of her. “So, let’s go look in the dungeon!”

I follow her, noticing that another couple from orientation has joined us for the tour. I take in a deep breath as we pass through the double doors and into a long, rectangular, and surprising well-lit room that does get progressively cozier the farther back I look. Directly in front of me is a man in a light blue t-shirt and jeans. He’s sitting on a folding chair as an attractive woman with long, dark hair stands before him with her arms raised. She’s in a dress, it’s early but so far everyone has their clothes on, and then I spot the rope and I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face. The man is tying off numerous intricate knots as he works the rope into a harness around her waist and through her legs. I look up and see carabiners attached to a ring hanging from an iron I-beam that stretches the length of the room.

“Greg is doing a rope demo tonight,” Emma explains, bringing my focus back to the present. I wonder how much weight those carabiners can handle and if men should even ask to be suspended. I decide that my best course of action is to investigate ropes but keep my feet firmly on the ground. “The man with the Violet Wand will be over here once he gets set up,” Emma continues. My confusion must show because she adds, “That’s the electrical stimulation.”

“Cool,” says the young man next to me. He’s my height but probably 10 years my junior. The girl standing beside him looks younger still. I smile at them both.

We start walking again in the near-empty space. To my left is a padded table exactly like the one my doctor has in his office. Next to that is a two-tiered spanking bench, or so I’m guessing based on the descriptions I’ve read in countless stories where Gael doesn’t feel a need to tie Jordan down to administer the punishment both are anxious to give and receive. Past it is a tall, padded table circled with silver eye hooks. Against the far wall and in the shadows is a slightly raised platform on which two long, black leather couches sit. Above them, mirrors line the upper half of the wall, reflecting every scene back to the room.

As we continue our stroll, I can’t help but wonder what lies beyond temporary partitions that seem to create ad hoc privacy rooms. There are a few other spanking benches and an honest-to-God stockade next to a daybed. We head back to the social area but stop when Emma mentions that the young man in our group, Peter, could probably answer more of my questions than she can. Peter explains that he’s a Dom, here for the first time with Karen, his sub. He points to two sets of metal beams arranged like the letter “X” and shares that he is looking forward to working with Karen on the Saint Andrew’s crosses. I hadn’t even noticed them. Wondering what else I missed, I start scanning the room again and it occurs to me that what I thought was a low padded bench is actually a cage.

_Nothing is going to happen to me that I don’t want to have happen_ , I remind myself, but I fear that despite the friendly faces, I may have bitten off more than I can chew. Emma exchanges a pointed look with one of the Dungeon Masters and nods her head. “We’re going to need to move back to the social area to finish our conversation.”


	3. Chapter 3

I shouldn’t be surprised, but by 8:00 pm the place is packed. I told myself all week that the dungeon would be populated by old folks in their 50s, not the underwear-models-turned-actors from my show, and to a degree I was correct. There are former flower children in flowing skirts or handlebar mustaches throughout the room, spanking or being spanked. But there are also people my age who look a lot like me, complete with the “deer in the headlights” expression on their faces, something I am trying desperately to mask. We catch each other’s eyes periodically and give each other small reassuring smiles.

I want to enjoy this; I want this to feel like a place where I could belong.

I’ve already experienced the electrical wand. The best part was the effect my fingers had on the man next to me when I held the attachment in one hand and skimmed his forearm with the other. Then Rob, the gentleman who owns the equipment, encouraged me to hand over the wand and let that same man lightly trail a bunch of tinsel over the back of my hand. I could not only feel but see the electricity spark off the metallic ribbons.

A few of us watch as Greg, the rope master, starts working on a quiet young lady with long, curly hair. She wears green cotton underwear and a t-shirt but very obviously is without a bra; Greg’s ropes become a harness, compressing her breasts and pushing her nipples against the thin cotton. It’s almost mesmerizing. Soon she’s suspended and swinging, then being gently and playfully pushed by another young couple. Thirty minutes later another girl has shimmied out of her miniscule plaid skirt and bra and floats ass-up in a black thong. Her male companion lightly applies a riding crop to the pale flesh that swings by. The overall affect is appealing, although I am still hesitant to hang from the rafters.

Then something in the middle of the space catches my eye. A young woman lies on her stomach on a padded table wearing nothing but little red cotton “boy short” underwear. She is tall and lithe, again probably in her early twenties. An older man in one of those leather vests I noted earlier is wearing surgical gloves as he places four columns of needles into her back, two on either side of her spine. The woman in the brocade corset stands at my side, and we both watch in fascination as the girl barely responds to the man attending to her while he finishes placing the needles.

“Do you know what this is?” she asks me.

Her eyes are brown bordering on hazel and I find myself struggling to keep them in my sight line. I’m gay but I’m not blind and her ample bosom presents a definite distraction. “I apologize,” I answer her finally, and I can feel the heat in my face. “I’m finding it hard to maintain eye contact with you.”

She smiles sweetly and says, “That’s perfectly fine. I didn’t wear this so you would look at my eyes.”

I can’t help but return her smile as she continues. “He’ll be threading the spaces with ribbon, so it will look like corset lacing.”

At first I can’t imagine that she’s telling the truth, but then I remember seeing a picture on the wall here and sure enough, there’s an oil painting directly across from me depicting the very thing my new friend just described. Life is literally imitating art. The “patient” plays with a spool of thin, pink satin and I realize that it will look quite beautiful when it’s done.

I’m about to tell her just that when I can’t help but notice a man standing a few feet away from me on the other side of the table. He’s striking in a black cotton t-shirt and dark jeans, his arms folded across a broad chest. He’s only an inch or two taller than I am and he’s trim, his biceps clearly indicating that he’s accustomed to work. Whether it’s a function of earning a paycheck or paying a gym membership, I couldn’t tell, but the effort is certainly appreciated. His jaw is angular and his skin is tan.

He must feel me watching him because he looks away from the girl on the table and suddenly he and I are locked together. His eyes are a beautiful green, his hair is a chestnut brown and I don’t think I could move from this spot and his gaze, even if someone yelled “fire.” Or perhaps if someone was lit on fire, which seems more plausible. I try for a quick grin and I can see some sort of emotion play out across his face as he truly looks at me, not in a wolfish way but as though he’s trying to decipher a puzzle. I imagine what he must think of me and instinctively quirk my head and then the most amazing thing happens – he lowers his eyes to the floor and smiles.

I forget to breathe for three seconds because no one has ever deferred to me in my entire life.

I watch him move off and remember that staring is considered rude in most of the free world, so I pull my attention back to the pink ribbon that now crisscrosses the smooth back on the table. After what I hope is an appropriate amount of time I scan the room again. Green Eyes is now talking to Michael about the array of crops and paddles on one of the tables. I hope I’m hiding my disappointment, or maybe it’s envy. Unfortunately Michael spots me and I can see one edge of his mouth raise before he glances down at the man before him and then back to me. I look away, but secretly, I want to sit down with Michael and ask if he’s figured out who or what I am yet since I am lost. For the briefest moment I couldn’t say which would have made me happier: Michael wanting me or running my hand up this gorgeous man’s back.

“Are you in line for the ropes?” someone asks me. I turn and there’s an unfamiliar yet pretty girl peering at me through black cat-eye glasses.

I glance over at Greg. The last participant is now wrapped in a blanket and under the arm of her male friend. “I hope so, yes,” I answer her.

“I think he’s ready for you,” she says.

Greg is a friendly man who smiles under his full beard. The first woman I remember seeing with him is his wife, I discover. She asks me if I’d like to be tied.

“I thought you wanted to learn how,” Greg pipes up. It’s obvious that I’m giving off a mixed vibe but there’s really nothing I can do about it.

The first thing that comes to mind is, “I’d like to do both. I don’t want to be suspended, though. Um, do you think you could just tie my hands?”

They both smile. “Sure,” Greg says reassuringly. It’s tasting night, so he must be used to adults acting like sheepish children all the time. He easily ties my wrists together.

“Is that what you were thinking?” his wife asks.

“The rope is softer than I thought it would be,” I admit. “But how about behind my back instead?”

They arrange my arms behind my back so they are low enough to be comfortable and I am basically holding my own wrists. Then the rope is moving expertly and I am bound. My thumb rubs against the rope. It feels soothing.

I walk back to the center of the room and watch as the finishing touches are applied to the corset lacings on the girl’s back. I realize that I haven’t stopped petting the rope. If I was a toddler, this might be the equivalent of sucking my thumb. I’m glad I have it, as my peripheral vision has found ass-less chaps working on a girl of equal stature. I’m trying not to stare as he opens a cupping set and suctions the plastic cylinders haphazardly on her bare back. The next time I look, there’s a tinge of pink on her skin. I squint and it’s blood. She’s bleeding around those cups. I don’t quite know how or why but more importantly, she doesn’t seem bothered by it. Then he kisses her.

Another 30 minutes later and I may be overwhelmed. During a brief conversation with a man who’s introduced himself as John, it occurs to me that my ears feel like they need to pop and my head is a little fuzzy, as if I’m under water. I think it’s time to lose the ropes, and Greg is surprised when I return.

“You still have that on?” he asks, quickly removing the binding. I nod, rubbing my wrists in front of me, feeling a mixture of relief and sadness. I’m a mess.

A deep voice talks quietly in my ear. “I would have had them tie the other end loosely around your neck and told you to keep your eyes on the floor.”

I give Michael a knowing smile.

“Do you like the rope?” he asks.

“I do,” I answer.  



	4. Chapter 4

I see a large water dispenser and cups on a table by the stockade and suddenly I’m parched. I pour myself a drink and decide to take a small break and hopefully clear my head. I make my way back into the social area and sit on one of the sofas as I hydrate.

What’s fairly obvious is that no one is having sex. Instantly I envision one particularly exciting story in which Gael takes Jordan to a private club where subs sit naked and leashed at their Masters’ feet, eyes glassy, while Doms engage in quiet conversation over the slight buzzing sounds of vibrators. I was hoping for that. I was hoping for screams of ecstasy accompanied by the loud crack of paddles smacking bare skin, or watching someone naked and tied to the Saint Andrew’s cross, alternatingly flogged and fucked. It seems that this may be a more hard-core environment than I was hoping for. Maybe it’s just early.

_I’m good_ , I reassure myself, taking stock of where I am mentally. It’s apparent that there are things here that excite me and things that I would rather ignore. Well, that’s to be expected. Regardless, I am not ready to leave just yet. I secretly wish the little bar was open, but I know that alcohol is not allowed in the BDSM rulebook, and rightfully so. I avail myself of the facilities and splash a little cool water on my face before setting my shoulders and returning to the dungeon.

A few people “ooh” and “ahh” around the lovely girl with the new satin laces tied into her back as she sits on the doctor’s table. The corseted brunette stands to the side admiring the scene; I cross to her and smile.

“How long will she keep that?” I ask quietly.

The woman smiles at me. “Only for the evening. They’ll take it out before she leaves tonight.”

“Ah,” I respond, nodding.

She searches my face. “What do you think about all this?” she asks.

I offer her a small smile and a shrug. “There are aspects that appeal to me and some that are a little outside my comfort zone,” I reply. My eyes track the petite female who I last saw with traces of blood and plastic cylinders on her back as she holds a blanket to her chest and jogs across the room. A few scantily clad young women lay on a blanket they’ve spread out on the floor as if they’re about to enjoy an impromptu picnic. Neither of these activities affects me on any level, which leaves me wondering if there’s something here that will. Perhaps I am neither dominant nor submissive, just plain old vanilla when it comes right down to it. I sigh.

“Well, let me know if you need anything,” my companion says sweetly. I return my attention to her face. She’s smiling. “If I may be so bold, I believe you may enjoy the scene currently taking place at the cross.” She winks and turns away, heading to another part of the room. I look to my left.

A very tall, athletic man stands completely nude and bound by his wrists in front of the metal beams.

I can feel my eyebrows raise and my breath catch. This is the only naked male I have seen this evening. He is handsome, with short brown hair and a look of concentration on his face. Immediately I am so proud of him, imagining the courage it takes to strip yourself bare in a room where only the females have felt comfortable doing so and standing exposed as you place your trust in your partner. Behind him a woman in her 30s stands with a small flogger at the ready. She is dressed in underwear and a t-shirt, but there’s no smile on her lips as she raises the black instrument and brings it quickly down across her partner’s back. He flinches but says nothing. She repeats the movement but the flinching stops; he is either accustomed already to the sensation or is willing himself to be still.

I’m only human. My eyes drop and notice that he’s flaccid, not at all aroused, but endowed enough to hang a decent length. My eyes travel over his body and I can’t for the life of me decide if I feel anything other than plain arousal. He’s handsome and naked and experiencing something that I should not be privy to; that in and of itself explains the slight twitch in my pants. I imagine myself kneeling in front of him with his cock in my mouth as his body involuntarily jerks towards me and my dick responds appreciatively. My mind conjures up the sensation of being this man, feeling only the sting of leather against my flesh and the warm wet of a human mouth on my length.

Sub. I’m definitely a sub. I want that right now.

They’re done too soon. He has no physical release; they merely stop the exercise. I let my eyes travel the room and soon enough I notice the same pair sitting on a black leather couch. He’s fully dressed and sipping from a water bottle as they visit with another couple in quiet tones that I can’t hear. It’s amazing, actually, that the man can go from an experience so heightened to something so normal in such a short amount of time. I am definitely a little envious.

I breathe deeply and walk around the space a bit, minding where I choose to stop so as to not get in anyone’s way, until I spot Emma. She kneels at the cross, naked except for small slippers, her hands on her lap and her head bowed. I catch movement to my left and Michael is walking towards her.

There are easily 40 to 45 people in the dungeon right now. The sounds of skin being slapped and people talking surround me. Bodies are naked and straddling benches or lying on tables. A woman is moaning somewhere in this room. All of that fades away for me as Michael steps up to Emma and whispers in her ear. She immediately stands and faces the cross and I realize I’m holding my breath.

There is something so confident, masculine and powerful in even the smallest of Michael’s gestures. He has a small folding table set up to the side and a variety of crops, floggers and paddles stretch across it. He contemplates each one before settling on what looks like a ping pong paddle. He walks to Emma and shows it to her. She smiles brightly and he responds in kind, offering her a fond look. I can’t help but smile myself.

And then it begins.

He smacks her ass with the paddle and she jumps, looking over her left shoulder with wide, happy eyes. Emma tips her head back as the paddle thwacks against her other ass cheek. Michael doesn’t stop; the pace is consistent and she responds beautifully, with small smiles and little gasps. The air is relaxed between them as they share the pleasure she receives from this pain. It’s really quite an amazing sight. Her ass is red from the abuse and I can feel myself twitch in sympathy, though, imagining the sting of the paddle against my own bare flesh. I wonder if I would be smiling like she is now.

“Hmm.”

The sound comes from my right. I glance towards it and freeze. Green Eyes is sitting on an abandoned spanking bench, his eyes trained on the scene in front of us. This close to him I can see the scattered freckles on his face and the flecks of gold in his eyes. His feet are planted firmly, legs comfortably parted, and his forearms rest on what I imagine are very firm thighs underneath the denim. He’s leaning in, body language clearly reflecting his appreciation for the activities we’re watching. He catches my eyes and we share a smile before I turn back to Michael and Emma, offering him a little privacy even though we are so close.

Michael switches to a flogger, half-a-dozen thin leather strips meeting at the handle, first showing it to Emma before trailing it down her back. She rolls her shoulders as it ghosts across her skin. The first strike is firm, not gentle, and although I can’t hear it, she’s saying “Hey!” as she playfully glares at her Dom. He shakes his head at her once and she faces forward, grasping the cross with both hands. True to form, Michael starts a rhythm he does not break and the smack of the flogger against Emma’s back rings in the air. Her pale skin undulates as she moves, absorbing the energy from each hit. She’s quiet now and her eyes close.

“They look good together,” a voice says softly.

I turn and smile at Green Eyes. “She certainly enjoys the experience,” I reply.

My companion smiles and although I wouldn’t have thought it possible, his face is even more handsome when he does. After a two-second pause he says, “I’m a sub. I’ve never been here before. Have you?”

At first I’m surprised by his candor, not about this being his first time here but by how casually he describes himself. Maybe that’s common. “This is my first time here as well,” I admit.

“Looks like only the girls here are subs. Naked,” he comments.

“There was one man nude on the cross earlier,” I offer. But it’s true and I can tell he’s a little disheartened. I would love nothing more than to see him naked, but I keep that thought to myself.

I turn to find Michael looking intently at the canvas in front of him, Emma’s back turning pink thanks to his ministrations. He is careful in his placement of the leather straps, knowing which areas to hit and which to avoid. At that moment, however, a strip of leather strays and snaps against Emma’s side, up high where I doubt she’s been flogged before. She immediately cries out, cringing and curling inward to protect the tender area. Michael immediately stops and steps towards her, looking for welts or other indications that she has been hurt in a lasting way. He cups her face softly and kisses her lips. He asks the question with his raised eyebrows and she answers by turning to face the cross again, rolling her back muscles through the pain and what I must assume is fatigue. It’s a wonder that such a petite person can take such constant abuse. What’s obvious is that something has changed, however instead of resuming slowly, Michael starts at the exact place he left off.

At that moment I realize that if all of my reading is correct, and it’s just been tales of romanticized bondage, then this scene will only end when Emma breaks. I exhale and commit to seeing it through. How else will I know if I can be involved, either giving or receiving, if I don’t?

Emma’s shifting her weight from the balls of her left foot to her right, rolling her back muscles with every strike. Her head hangs down and her hands are firmly grasping the metal beam in front of her as Michael continues the steady pace he established. I can tell she’s starting to falter but it’s still a surprise when she cries out in anguish. Michael strikes her again and she does the same. The third time, she falls to the floor sobbing.

“Jesus.” It’s a whisper. In fact, I doubt the man at my side even knows he said it out loud.

Instantly Michael is there with a blanket, covering the crying blonde and scooping her up into his arms. He easily carries her over to the leather couches and sits with her huddled against him on his lap. He’s murmuring words of praise, I’m sure, his lips moving against her temple.

I look down at my feet as a jumble of emotions pass through me. I’m ashamed at myself for watching, only because now the scene is even more intimate. Rationally I know this is the logical conclusion, the only way it could end. And certainly, Michael and Emma were aware they had an audience. But I feel as though I have infringed on them. I can only hope that when she calms down, Emma will feel the cathartic release that the experience I believe should have created for her.

I don’t know if I can handle being in her slippers.

I need another break.


	5. Chapter 5

So does Green Eyes.

I’m following him as we both head into the deserted social area, me to check my phone and he to use the restroom. I easily find my coat, which I left hanging in the open closet area, and realize that I don’t need the phone, just an excuse to get away. I’m staring into the dungeon through the open double doors, thinking about freckles and tanned skin.

I’m worried about him.

He seems so affected by the scene that I can’t help but want to soothe him, make sure he’s alright. I want to give him some sort of positive experience here. I wonder if he would like that as well.

He walks past me, shoulders slouching, and stands with his hands on the top of a padded chair. It’s now or never.

I take a deep breath as I make my way over and stand next to him, not crowding into his personal space but close enough that he knows that I wish to have a private conversation. He turns to me with a forced smile.

“Are you alright?” I ask, searching his eyes.

“Yea,” he says, looking back down at the top of the chair. “That was pretty intense. I, uh, I’ve never seen that in person.”

“Neither have I,” I admit. I reach to place a hand over his but stop and look at him. “May I?” He smiles and nods, so I cover his hand with my own. “May I ask you a question?”

“Hmm?” he replies.

“Would you like me to hold you?”

He looks at me, confused. “Why?”

 _Because you’re hurting. Because you’re gorgeous. Because I don’t want you to leave here upset. Because it would be my honor to do just about anything to see you smile again._ I find myself gently rubbing my thumb across the back of his hand. “I think you need some reassurance, some affection, and I would like to do that for you.”

His eyes search mine a little and I can see him blush. He nods his head. “Yea. I would.”

I can’t help but smile at him as I open my arms, letting him come to me. Strong arms circle my waist and pull me close and I sigh happily as I do the same for him. His head settles in the crook of my neck and I can feel his warm breath on my skin. Instinctively my right hand moves to cradle the back of his head and I find myself gently running my fingers through his hair. He relaxes into me.

Every nerve ending in my body is tingling. How is it possible that this amazing person is in my arms right now? He so obviously enjoys being here that I immediately want to never move again and do anything I can to make him feel even better. “May I ask you another question?” I ask softly, holding his head in place so he doesn’t need to move. “In a perfect world, how would this evening have panned out for you? What would you have only dreamed would happen tonight?”

I feel his chest heave against mine as he takes a deep breath and lets it go. He’s quiet, but I just continue to hold him, content in how relaxed he’s becoming.

“I would have found a Dom. Done a scene,” he whispers in my neck. “Wanna be naked. Wanna let someone else be in control.”

I don’t know if I’m a Dom or a sub but at this moment I want to give him the world. I am ready to do anything this man says. I feel him swallow. “Will you do a scene with me?” I ask quietly. “I’m not a Dom. At least I don’t know if I am. But I would like to have you naked at my feet. I’d like to touch you, tell you how beautiful you are, watch you get hard from listening to me. See if I can give you pleasure with just the lightest of touches.” The words come to me as I see it happening in my mind. My pulse is picking up just imagining this gorgeous, strong man at my feet responding to my words and letting me touch his…

“Yes,” he says. He exhales deeply again. “Please.”

“I don’t think I can inflict pain. Will that be…”

“That’s fine,” he says into my shoulder.

“Good,” I respond, smiling. It occurs to me that I should ask more questions. “What’s your name?”

“Dean.”

“Dean. Good. You may call me…” I’m about to tell him my name, but then it occurs to me that to make this good for him, I should make this more formal. “Sir. Can you do that for me?”

Dean’s smile is radiant. “Yes, Sir.”

“What do I need to make sure I do not do or say, Dean?”

“Um, how about no personal questions and uh, no…nothing…shit. Don’t put anything inside me, okay?”

“Of course!” I wasn’t even thinking about doing something like that, wouldn’t have imagined it, but I might have inadvertently asked Dean about his work or family, so I’m glad I asked the question. “So to summarize, you consent to being naked, allowing me to praise you and letting me touch you externally, on your body, including your penis. I will make you come. I will remain fully clothed, Dean. You don’t need to touch me at all. You will call me ‘Sir.’ I will not ask any personal questions and I will not penetrate you in any way. May I ask you questions about what you experienced here tonight?”

Dean is already nodding, excitement showing in his eyes.

“And we will use ‘red’ as a safe word, as was explained during orientation?” I confirm.

“Yea. Yes, Sir,” Dean replies.

“Dean, may I kiss you?”

There’s that amazing smile again. He is truly beautiful. “Yes, Sir.” I lean in and lightly touch his lips with mine. It’s not even a kiss really, just me resting my lips on his, until I lightly slide my lips against his and then press more firmly. I hear the lightest of moans from him and then he’s pressing back. His breath is warm and he feels solid in my arms. I pull back and sigh. “Very good, Dean,” and I can’t help a small giggle. “Sorry. Okay. I believe our first order of business is for me to discuss our plans with the Dungeon Master and then I will have you strip. You are still alright doing this in front of others?”

“Yes, Sir,” Dean answers.

“Follow me.”

We make our way back into the dungeon and I immediately find Michael standing next to another man, both of their eyes scanning the room. Dean, I realize, is walking a full pace behind me and stops behind me as well. I can’t stop the smile that lights up my face, but then school my features as Michael’s gaze finds mine. He smirks and shakes his head slightly as he makes note of Dean behind me.

“Interesting,” he says. “Castiel, how can I help you?” he asks me.

“I would like to discuss a scene with you, and get your approval.”

“Certainly,” he replies.

I review everything Dean and I have discussed, turning so Dean can hear my conversation clearly although he chooses to keep his eyes on the floor. “I would like to bring him to orgasm,” I conclude, watching the tips of Dean’s ears turn pink. “Is that permitted? I haven’t seen that this evening.”

“Permitted, but not usual. I’m going to recommend that you gentlemen get a tarp from the area in the far left side of the dungeon. They’re really more like blankets. And you can use the back leather sofa.”

“Thank you Michael,” I nod, practically beaming.

We make our way to the back of the room and thankfully one of the two sofas is completely vacant. I instruct Dean to find two blanket/tarps and return, which he does. I have him lay one tarp out in front of the sofa and fold the other into a small rectangle, telling him I want him to use it as a pillow on which he is to kneel once he has stripped and folded his clothes into a neat pile. Every BDSM story I have read includes these “fold your clothes neatly” instructions, so I imagine it’s a familiar part of the routine to get into the right mindspace. Dean merely nods at the request. I sit on the sofa and look up at him. He meets my eyes and I nod.

Dean starts to remove his clothes and I can feel my heart beating hard in my chest. He is absolutely amazing, all broad shoulders, defined pecs, muscled arms and tan skin. He’s fit, not in an Abercrombie & Finch model way but in a real human being way. His skin is smooth, thighs are as firm as I imagined and at half-mast his cock is beautiful. I’m smiling again because I have express permission to touch this handsome man and make him come. He places the pile of clothes to the side of the couch and kneels on the folded blanket in front of me but presenting himself in profile.

“Spread your knees a little further apart for me Dean,” I instruct him. He silently complies, looking straight ahead. “Good. Very good. Now place your hands, palms down, on your thighs. I want you to keep them there unless I tell you otherwise.” Dean nods in understanding. “Use your words, Dean,” I tease him.

He smiles. “Yes, Sir.”

“Very good.” I scoot to the edge of the couch so I can whisper in his ear and he can feel my breath against his skin. “Do you like it when I tell you that you are being good for me, Dean?”

I can see him swallow, his Adam’s apple moving. “Yes, Sir,” he answers quietly.

With both my pointer and middle fingers together, I start at the base of Dean’s spine and run my nails up his back, applying enough pressure to make sure this doesn’t tickle in any way but also doesn’t leave a scratch. Slowly I make my way up to the base of his neck, watching his lips part. “You are stunning, Dean,” I tell him. “It is an honor to be able to touch your body.” Once I reach his shoulders, my fingers spread to gently scrape against his scalp, massaging the back of his head. Dean leans into my touch. “Tell me the most exciting thing you saw here tonight.”

“You,” he whispers.


	6. Chapter 6

I’m surprised, obviously. I was not expecting that as an answer. “Thank you, Dean,” I chuckle. “What else did you experience this evening that excited you?”

“The ropes, Sir,” he answers.

“Hmm. What about the ropes appealed to you?” I trail a finger down the side of Dean’s neck and around to his chest, applying pressure across his collarbone and stopping at his heart, switching hands so I can continue comfortably.

“Always wanted to be tied up, Sir. Immobilized.”

“How would I tie you, Dean? Would you want your hands restrained behind your back?” I ask, tracing a slow, straight line down Dean’s chest to his belly button. “Or should I tie your hands above your head, to a headboard, perhaps? Do you have a headboard on your bed, Dean?”

“Yes, Sir,” he breathes. His eyes are closed and I hope he is imagining himself tied to his headboard right now. I wish I was there to see it. I move my finger off to the side, avoiding his cock to instead drag along his thigh muscle. I pause. Oh my God, I never asked Dean if he enjoys being with men. How could I have not asked him that question? I assumed since he let me kiss him and I have permission to touch that he would enjoy sex with a man, but what if it’s only that he would enjoy this kind of scene with the promise of completion? My mind is spinning because I want to paint the right picture for him, give him what he needs.

“Dean,” I say quietly in his ear, so only he can hear me. “Would you prefer to be tied up and immobilized at the hands of a woman or a man?”

He licks his lips then worries his bottom lip between his teeth before answering. “A man, Sir,” he offers in a whisper.

“And you’re being truthful with me, Dean? This is all about you, beautiful, so I will be happy to use whichever…”

“I am being truthful, Sir,” Dean says, turning to look me straight in the eye.

I realize that I am grinning in a way that is probably unbecoming for a Dom, so I try to bring my face back to neutral. “Good, Dean. Thank you for being honest with me.” I clear my throat and continue. “I would love to see your thighs tied to your calves, splayed open for me like you are right now. Would you like that?”

“Yes,” he replies quickly. I reach up and touch the tip of a nipple, making small circles with the slightest of pressure. He quietly gasps in response, hardening under my finger. I feel my dick fatten in my pants and look down to see how this is affecting him. Dean is fully hard. I start flicking the nipple with my fingernail and Dean shudders.

“I can imagine you just like this laying on your bed, Dean, on your back, your thighs and calves bound together, legs spread, cock hard and leaking against your belly. I would blindfold you so you could only feel my hands. Would you like that?”

The beautiful man in front of me continues to quake in response to my attention to his nipple but he closes his eyes, imagining the blindfold. “Yes, Sir. Very much, Sir,” he responds.

I can see the tip of his cock glistening and it takes all of my willpower to remain seated. I draw a rather ragged breath and rub the tip of my finger in the wet of it. Dean gasps, his eyes flying open as he looks down at my hand.

“I can’t wait to see you come for me, Dean,” I tell him. My voice is low and adrenaline races through me because it’s so true. I trace my finger down his hard cock, pressing against him, and he moans out loud, another drop of precum leaking from him.

I glance up and see Michael making his way towards me so I sit up. Dean immediately notices but Michael merely nods towards him in a “carry on” type of gesture as he settles on the other sofa to watch. I swallow and offer him a nod in return, frustrated with myself for breaking the spell. “Dean, do you want my finger on your cock?”

“Yes, Sir,” he says, sitting straighter.

“Good,” I say and return my finger to the base of his length. “How about your balls, Dean? Would you like me to hold them in my hand, massage them, pull on them a little?” I rub my finger hard against the base of Dean’s cock as I wait for a reply. His hips rock just the slightest against my hand.

“Yes, Sir. Please, Sir,” he says and it’s almost a whine.

“Very good, Dean.” I reach down and massage his balls in my palm and his head dips back slightly as he grinds his hips into my hand.

I release him. “Dean, be good and let me do this for you. Be still. Can you do that?”

It’s only a squeak this time but definite nodding. I smile. “Use your words, beautiful.”

Dean dips his head and shakes it, muttering, “Jesus, man,” in embarrassment, although I can’t tell if it’s caused by my request or the compliment.

Without warning, I smack the underside of his testicles with my fingers. He sucks in a breath and cringes. “Be good, Dean. Now tell me, can you remain still?”

“Yes, Sir,” he replies quietly. I can tell he wants to look at me but I shake my head, knowing he can see the movement in his peripheral vision.

I move my index finger slowly back up his hard length and instead of moving he pants through his open mouth. “You are absolutely stunning like this,” I praise him. “I’m so glad everyone here can see you, naked and obedient, kneeling in front of me like the good little sub that you are.”

Dean’s dick twitches as he sits a little straighter, his posture telegraphing the fact that I’ve identified another of his kinks. Excellent. “I guarantee there isn’t a man or woman here who doesn’t wish they were in my place, running their finger down your beautiful cock,” I promise him. I’m rubbing the side of my finger against him, from root to tip and back again, knowing it’s just a small amount of friction but hoping that the touch combined with my words get him close to where I want him. I lean in again. “Just look around, Dean. See how many people want you.”

He opens his eyes and steals a glance to his right, where my friend in the corset smiles appreciatively at him. Behind her, John is admiring Dean as well. I can see Dean start to blush but I keep moving my finger against him. His dick weeps more and his breath is labored. “You’re so good, Dean,” I tell him. “They all agree with me. They all want you. In fact, although you cannot see him, Michael sits behind you right now, admiring your obedience, wishing he was in my place with you at his feet.” Dean groans quietly at the thought, eager for Michael’s approval. I steal a look at the Dom and he gives me a silent wink.

I grab the head of Dean’s dick firmly and rub my thumb over the mess at his tip, eliciting a full-body tremor and a moan that draws in a few more curious stares. I want him so badly at this point it almost hurts. I want to see him lose himself at my hand. I wonder if he’ll call out when he comes or just quietly moan as he spills over my fingers.

“Do you want to come, Dean? Make a mess all over my hand?”

“Yes, Sir,” he replies and the desperation in his voice gets me even harder.

“Then you shall have to work for it, good boy. Keep your hands on your thighs but raise yourself up to your knees.”

Dean follows my instructions. I move my hand with him, though, so it’s still loosely covering his tip. “Move into my hand, Dean. Fuck my fist.”

He steals another look down, realizing that the only stimulation he’ll receive will be at the top of his dick, and he whines in frustration.

“Dean,” I say firmly. He immediately freezes. “This is all up to you, gorgeous. You have 20 thrusts to get the job done and then I remove my hand. I have confidence in you. I know you can do this for me.”

He nods, concentrating, and I can see his fingers pressing firmly into his quadriceps. I hold my hand steady as he rocks his hips up, only able to move the crown of his cock through the top of my fist and then back down. It's red and wet as it peeks through the “O” of my index finger and thumb.

“One,” I call out. He jerks, unprepared for my counting. “You can do it, Dean,” I coo at him.

He thrusts again, four times in rapid succession, and I tick off his attempts. I know he’s hoping that the quick stimulation will get him off. He tries again, this time a set of five. “That’s 10, beautiful. You only have 10 more left.”

I see a bead of sweat slip down the side of his face so I lean forward and lightly kiss it. It’s stressful, I know, to be under the microscope, evaluated by strangers, and on the clock. He wants to be good, wants his prize. All of this plays out on his handsome face and I am painfully hard. I want him to know I’m rooting for him. “You’re doing so well, Dean. I can’t wait to see you come, watch you tense, hear the sounds you make when you orgasm.” He nods again, swallowing hard.

“I wish you were fucking my mouth instead Dean,” I whisper in his ear as he jerks his hips up and pushes through my fist again, whining softly. “Eleven,” I count. “Want to taste you,” I goad him quietly as he thrusts up again. His eyes are squeezed closed. “Twelve. Imagine my wet mouth all around you,” I murmur as he fucks my fist again. His ass is clenched tight and he moans. “Thirteen. I’ll take you all the way down. Fourteen. Till you feel your dick against the back of my throat. Fifteen. Then I’ll swallow around you. Sixteen. Swallow your cum as it hits my tongue.”

He moans loudly now and a sheen of sweat has broken out across his chest. His legs are shaking.

“Seventeen. Come for me Dean.” He cries out as he focuses all his energy into the movement, willing himself to obey. He’s so close, I can tell. “Eighteen. Now, Dean. Come now,” I bark, making it an order, not a request.

He thrusts once, twice, and then shouts “Yes!” as he shoots his load. I watch mesmerized as white pulses out of his body and lands a foot in front of him on the tarp then continues to spurt and dribble down my fingers. He slumps back on his heels, but I’m there with my other arm, holding him steady as he leans over into me.

“Oh my God, Dean, that was amazing,” I tell him reverently. “You were so good. So perfect.” I’m gently pumping his spent dick once more, making sure he’s completely done before releasing him and wiping my hand on the tarp. I hold him close as he fights to regain his composure, panting while he nuzzles into my neck.

Someone yells “Encore!” and Dean’s body shakes as he laughs.


	7. Chapter 7

I look up and Michael is draping a blanket over Dean’s shoulders. I smile at him in appreciation.

“Come sit next to me Dean,” I encourage. He complies, groaning as he moves off his knees to slide his blanketed butt onto the leather. I kiss his forehead and then his lips. “Would you like me to get you some water? Will you be okay for a minute or two?”

“Yes, Sir,” he mumbles, slumping back against the sofa.

“Alright, gorgeous. You can watch me, if you like. I’ll be right back with something for you to drink.” I make my way over to the table by the stockade, noticing that Michael is walking with me.

“That was nicely done, Castiel,” he says. “How do you feel?”

I’m surprised by the question. He should be more concerned about Dean than me. “I’m fine, Michael, thank you.” I glance back at Dean, who’s still leaning back into the sofa, his eyes closed and a smile on his face that I can easily see from this distance.

“To be honest,” he continues, handing me a cup of water, “I pegged you as a sub when we first met.” He leaves the sentence hanging, waiting for me to confirm or deny.

I take the water and gulp down half the cup. “When I walked in tonight, I was unsure where I fell on the spectrum. I still am. I have seen and experienced things this evening that raise more questions than provide answers.”

Michael hums in understanding. “What did you like?”

“My interaction with Dean, certainly,” I reply easily. “I don’t believe I can actually inflict pain, Michael. I would much rather engage in the positive. And, honestly, the sexual release. Giving that to Dean was very fulfilling. So I’m not a Dom, I’m guessing,” I add, shaking my head at my own confusion.

“If I may ask, do you usually top?”

I raise my eyebrows. It’s a personal question but I suppose there’s a license to have these kinds of open conversations when naked bodies are writhing around you. “Usually,” I confirm, taking another sip from my cup.

Michael nods, contemplating. “I would recommend that you investigate the term ‘gentle Dom.’ It usually refers to a more sexually dominant personality without true sadistic tendencies. Not that I’m a firm believer in labels, but it may give you a level of comfort and a path to explore.” He hands me another cup of water. “You and Dean work well together. If this is something you enjoy, perhaps he would like to explore it with you. Unfortunately, the dungeon is more about kink than sex, although many subs orgasm from the high they get from the pain they receive.”

I take the other offered cup, noticing that Dean is looking at me from the sofa. We share a quick smile before I return my attention to the tall man in front of me. “Michael, thank you very much for your help this evening.”

He nods and smiles. “It’s what I’m here for. Better go take care of your sub,” he adds with a wink.

I let my eyes roam over Dean’s face and blanketed body as I hand him the water. He looks up at me, calm and happy, his face still flushed slightly from the experience. Instinctively I reach out a hand and cup his jaw, lightly stroking his cheek with my thumb. He closes his eyes and leans into my touch before offering me a look that mirrors how relaxed and content he is. I glance at the space next to him, silently asking permission to join him. He snorts and rolls his eyes at me before nodding.

“I think sitting next to me is assumed to be okay if you’ve just gotten me off with your pinky finger,” he scoffs, leaning back into me as I sit beside him. I can feel him chuckle against me.

“Is it assumed to be okay for me to hold you as well?” I whisper in his ear. He shivers just slightly and nods as I slide an arm around his waist.

We sit quietly and I find myself closing my eyes and relaxing, gently stroking his arm as I replay the scene in my head. Dean had been so open and honest with me, followed my every instruction. It really is a heady experience to be trusted so quickly and unconditionally. And truly, I don’t know where the inspiration for half of that scene came from. It’s as if I channeled all the things I love about half a dozen of my favorite fanfic stories; my brain simply knew what to say and do next.

“Thank you,” he says quietly.

I smile. “Thank _you_ , Dean. I was just reflecting on how perfect you were. The trust you placed in me is a little humbling.”

“I think I trusted you from the moment you offered that hug.” He shifts to catch my eye. “Hey, uh, do you want me to…help you out or anything?”

“Hmm?” I’m not sure what I would need help with until I realize that he must have spotted the slight bulge in my jeans that has yet to fully recede. “Oh! No, I’m fine,” I assure him.

“Dude, I don’t even know your name.”

“It’s Castiel,” I grin. “Castiel Novak.”

“Dean Winchester. Naked and at your service,” he offers, smiling.

_I wonder_. “Dean, would you like to be at my service? Would you like to do this again? I know that I’m brand new to this, so if you would prefer someone more knowledgeable I would completely understand but…”

“Cas,” he interrupts, and I’m pleasantly surprised that he’s already given me a nickname. “I would love that, man. I don’t need someone who knows all the tricks. I mean, don’t get me wrong, your technique was awesome, but it’s not like I need to be hanging from the ceiling to have a good time here.”

“Dean, that’s…thank you,” I reply. Yet again I feel as though I’ve won the lottery. He wants to do this again. Wants to be my submissive. My mind starts racing with thoughts about how I can please him when I realize I don’t know what pleases him. “I’ve read about contracts – Dom/sub contracts. Have you completed one before? I’d like to know all the things you would enjoy as well as activities to avoid.”

At this point Dean turns to face me. “I’ve only negotiated scenes. I haven’t completed a contract before. But I would. I mean I think it’s a good idea. Hey, I’m going to put my clothes back on. Um, do you wanna get out of here? Maybe go grab a cup of coffee or something?”

I’m nodding before I even realize it. “Absolutely.”

For a brief moment I think about how easy it would have been to stay in tonight and to have missed this.

I gather up the blankets while Dean climbs back into his underwear and jeans, all the while thinking that it’s a shame he can’t walk around nude 24/7. We are all the lesser for it. He catches me watching and winks. I find a hamper against the far wall, and by the time I return, Dean’s ready.

Excitement about starting an actual Dom/sub relationship with this man paints a wide grin across my face. I can’t wait to start the Internet search that Michael recommended, to find a BDSM contract, to learn about who Dean is and what makes him happy, to give that to him as often as he’ll allow it.

I place my hand at the small of his back and guide him in front of me as I whisper in his ear.

“Let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for taking the time to read this little ditty. It was actually inspired by my first-ever trip to an actual dungeon. Although I did not meet Dean Winchester, I did witness virtually everything through Chapter 5. I left after I checked my phone in the open closet area. My biggest regret was not stopping to talk to the man who seemed so visibly affected by the flogging scene. Wherever you are, sweetheart, just know that I wish I had the cojones to give you what Cas gave Dean. ; )
> 
> It's probable that I'll come back to this and see if a Part II makes sense. For now I have one more fic to finish!


End file.
